Like all of my stories, this is fiction and fantasy.
And note that I don't refer to any of my lead characters as "shemales", "tgirls", "trannies", etc. To me, they are simply "special girls". I believe that makes them more feminine. And isn't that the point?
As always, I welcome comments: lovepinkpumps@excite.com
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The Hotel California By Pink Pumps
Chapter 1
Hello. I'm Cindy, and I'm a 20-year-old college student, majoring in fashion design.
I've been told many times I'm beautiful, even though almost none of the people telling me that have any idea I have a thingy. It's three circumcised inches long when I get a stiffy ... thin ... pink ... and ooooh so sensitive.
I'm a committed "bottom" – with one exception that I'll tell you about – so size doesn't matter at all.
I'm nearly six-feet tall with wavy shoulder-length red hair, and my perfect, ripe, juicy 36C boobies are "store bought." To explain: I "bought" them on the "Baker's Dozen Plan". I was introduced to the surgeon by my best friend – special girl Amy. "Give the surgeon 13 suck and fuck sessions – a baker's dozen – and you own the boobs at no charge," she said. So I did. With enthusiasm.
My eyes are very green, and I weigh somewhere around 130 pounds – thin when you're almost six-feet tall. My tummy is flat, and my ass and legs are fit and toned from aerobics, running and yoga.
I've been on hormones since I was 12, and my hips, radiant hair and soft skin show it. My parents made the decision to raise me as Cindy after they saw what a beautiful baby I was ... way too pretty to be a boy. I thank them with all my heart.
I love wearing five-inch stiletto heels, even though they make me taller than most of the men I date. But the ones shorter than me don't seem to mind being seen with a statuesque redhead on his arm in heels and a mini-skirt. Talk about showing a lot of leg!
My favorite heels are the red-leather strappy stiletto sandals given to me by my parents as a high-school graduation present.
So, you might ask, what do I have to bitch about? Well, I just entered my junior year and I'm almost broke. I made my tuition this semester, managed to buy my books, and pay a month's apartment rent.
I didn't have a date this Saturday night, and here I sit feeling so sexy, completely naked except for my pink five-inch patent-leather pumps. I'm too damn broke to go dancing – or do anything else, for that matter. Even order a pizza.
It was time to face the music – this would be my last semester if I didn't come up with some cash pretty soon. My parents have given me all they can, and I promised them I would pay them back, even though they would neither ask, nor expect me to. A girl has her pride, right?
I was on my couch, legs crossed, sipping a cold beer (simple pleasures) when someone rang my doorbell. I had a robe handy for a quick coverup as I looked through the peephole and saw Amy. I'm never shy with her, so damn the robe! I opened the door and welcomed her in.
The two of us are very comfortable being butt-ass naked with each other, and we do the naked hula pretty regularly. She's the exception to the "bottom rule" I told you about. We're very good for each other, in and out of bed.
"Amy!" I said. "What an unexpected pleasure! Please come in!"
Amy is my polar opposite. She's just over five-feet-tall, 90 pounds, with fairly short jet-black hair. Her boobies are baseball size – 32B – and our talented surgeon made them just perfect for her size and frame. She has the cutest, tightest little ass! Her peepee is even smaller than mine.
If a special girl is honest with herself, the smaller the peeny, the sexier she is. Soooo much more feminine ...
I wasn't seeing as much of Amy at night anymore for some reason. But our after-school suck and fuck sessions were still very good, so I really hadn't thought much about it. If she was out at night being fucked by a boyfriend, fine.
I mean, I have my share of boyfriends who I'm dating regularly. Ones who treat me like the lady I am; ones who treasure me and know a special girl's fuck hole is sweeter and tighter than any pussy.
But I still wondered ...
Amy sat as I went to the fridge to get a beer for her and another for me.
"I love that ass," Amy said as I turned my back to her.
"And I love yours," I replied.
We settled in on the sofa and clinked beer bottles. "To us!" we said in unison. Sometimes I think we read each others minds.
We chatted for awhile and I coaxed Amy out of her clothes. Then I noticed the heels she wore were smoky-gray Bruno Magli five-inch alligator pumps. She was also wearing a lacy black Jean Yu garterbelt with very sheer pure-silk black stockings. No panties, of course. We almost never wear panties, except at school.
"Were'd the shoes and lingerie come from, Amy?" I asked. "You're as broke as I am."
She paused for a moment, then said: "I WAS broke. Not now. I have a secret and I want to tell you about it. Well, actually, I want to SHOW you my secret."
"So show me!" I said.
"Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at six. Be sexy! Wear the black cocktail dress I like on you so much."
"But Amy! It's sooooo short!" I squealed.
"Well, that just makes it perfect then, doesn't it?"
Wow. What did she have in mind? Amy rose from my my couch, walked to the door, opened it and stepped out into the cool night air toward her car (new?) in just her garterbelt, stockings and heels.
"Amy!" I giggled. "You're almost bare-ass naked! And your thingy's hard!"
"Yep!" She never broke stride or looked back, giving me a little finger waggle over her shoulder.
I almost pleaded: "What's the mystery?
"Mystery makes it even better. Be ready when I get here tomorrow."
As I neatly folded her clothes, I wondered what the fuck just happened.
Chapter 2
The next day, I took a scented bubble bath, shaved my legs and around my landing strip; gave myself a series of enemas until the water ran clear, then used a scented douche. You never know when a handsome man might want to stick a hard cock in your pooper, right?
I did my makeup and hair, spritzed on perfume, and put on a black satin half-cup bra that left my nipples exposed. I had no idea what Amy had in mind, but she'd said be sexy.
The dress Amy ordered me to wear is so fucking short I can't wear stockings with it, and I HATE pantyhose. My hardening nipples and little tent were clearly visible.
I added a pair of strappy black five-inch sandals.
Even before I could sit down in my den, I heard Amy honk. I opened the doorway just a crack and said, "Amy, when I walk in this dress, my bare ass will show!"
"Then let it hang out! Let's GO!"
So, I took a deep breath and walked to Amy's car. (Yeah, it's new.)
I slid in without flashing the neighborhood and Amy gave me a big, wet tongue kiss. We would have to touch up our lip gloss when we got to wherever it was we were going.
Amy was wearing a tiny red-leather miniskirt with a sheer white silk blouse. (Oh, my gosh! How could she afford a leather skirt and silk blouse?) She had on matching red-leather five-inch pumps, with no stockings for the same reason I left mine off.
"Pleeeease, Amy! Where did the clothes come from? Where are we going?"
"Just enjoy the ride," she said.
I guess we drove and chatted for about an hour, maybe 90 minutes, then up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. Holy, shit! It's the Hotel California! Not really ... ha!
What it was was a big nondescript building right on the outskirts of a town.
When we got out of the car, I could hear music, but it was very faint. You would never hear it from inside a car if you were passing by, and probably not glance twice at the building. My guess was the building was almost soundproof. And there had to be a reason, huh? Even more mystery.
"Amy, aren't you going to tell me where we are and what's up?" I asked as our heels clicked and clacked on the parking lot pavement.
"Not yet, Cindy. Be patient. It'll be worth it."
When we got to the door, Amy tapped twice. I knew someone was looking through the peephole at us when Amy smiled and did a little wave. The door opened and a very handsome and big man – a giant, in fact – took Amy's hand, guided her inside and kissed her on the lips.
"My dear, Amy," he said. "Welcome back. This should be another fun and rewarding evening for you.
"And who's your very hot, really tall friend?" (He was talking about me!) "Does she know everything?"
"Not yet," Amy said.
Everything? And not yet, what?
We walked to a table, sat and crossed our legs. A tiny little thing in a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform took our drink order and skipped away. I swear – she SKIPPED!
"She's absolutely gorgeous!" I said. "Special girl?"
"Yep," Amy replied.
We special girls seem to have a 6th sense about these things.
The little creampuff returned with our drinks and skipped away again. I could see she wasn't wearing panties, either. Some sort of dress code?
"Tell me what's up, please!" I was begging.
"In a bit. Let's dance!"
Amy took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. We danced for awhile, then drank, danced, and drank even more.
My inhibitions were completely gone now and I could not have cared less if someone was seeing my bare bootie and peepee. It was impossible to hide the fact that all the girls here were like us, and the men in the crowd knew exactly that.
After we returned to the table, Amy excused herself, leaving me alone. The little schoolgirl reappeared with a fresh drink for me. She smiled and it was so sweet. She looked SO young!
In a few minutes, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight was turned on, illuminating a small stage with a brass pole! I hadn't noticed the stage before, and I kid you not about the brass pole. Where the hell was I? Maybe it really was the haunted Hotel California. If I heard a Joe Walsh guitar rip, my pantyless ass was out the door. No fucking joke.
It didn't take long to find out what the stage and brass pole were for. Music started and onto the stage stepped ... you guessed it – Amy!
She was wearing opaque white lace-top thigh-highs, a tiny white g-string, lacy white bra, and five-inch white satin wedding pumps.
Amy began to slowly and sensually bump and grind. She'd obviously done this before.
The crowd showed it's appreciation without whooping and whistling; simply politely clapping. I was beginning to see that this was a classy place with beautiful special girls and men who love them.
It took two songs for Amy to strip off her bra and g-string. Naked now but for her heels and hose, her little thingy was oh-so-hard!
For the third song, she did the brass-pole routine like a gymnast. After the song was over, Amy scooped up her bra and g-string, and did a sexy curtsey. The men tossed small envelopes onto the stage and Amy picked them up, before heading behind a curtain.
In a normal strip-joint, customers would throw bills onto the stage for a stripper as talented as Amy. So what were in those envelopes? Phone numbers? Business cards? I had no idea, which just added to the mystery.
A few minutes later, Amy reappeared at our table, dressed in the clothes she had on when we arrived.
"So what do you think?" she asked.
"Amy, shit! I can't begin to process what I just saw!" I all but screamed "All I can say is that it was the sexiest thing I've ever seen! You're a freaking star!"
"Sweetie pie, we're just getting warmed up."
We???!!!
The cute little schoolgirl brought us another round of drinks and kissed Amy on the lips.
"She's a doll!" I said.
"Oh, yeah! A living, breathing doll."
And she most definitely was – about 4'6" and no more than 75 pounds; curly surfer-blond hair in a pixie cut; icy blue eyes that could freeze a polar bear. What a perfectly beautiful little angel.
Chapter 3
I still had no idea what was going on around me. Amy killed the rest of her drink, then excused herself again.
In a few minutes, the lights dimmed and the spotlight was turned back on.
Out stepped Amy. She was wearing a white silk blouse, gray knee-length wool pencil skirt, and sheer black hose (thigh-highs, or garterbelt and stockings, I wondered?). She was obviously braless.
She had on black suede five-inch peep-toe pumps, and she was also wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I had a pretty good idea of where this was going: Amy was the sexy but prim school teacher who was about to get it on with one of her students. You can guess who the student was going to be, right?
Amy shook her sweet ass a few times, made sure everyone could see her hard nipples and tented skirt, then sat down in a chair that magically appeared. She crossed her legs and let a pump dangle from a foot. So sexy, right?
Out walked the schoolgirl, in tears. And they looked so real! What an actress!
Amy motioned for the little beauty to sit on her lap, then stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.
I could hear Amy say, "There, there, tell me all about it."
Her co-star batted her big beautiful eyes, pouted (oh, how fucking sexy!) and said: "Nobody will play with me. Will you play with me, Miss Amy?"
During their funtime, I learned the cutie's name is Megan.
"Megan, dear, let me help you feel better," Amy cooed.
"Would you, Miss Amy?" Megan sighed. "Would you, please! You always know how to make me feel better. I love you, Miss Amy." (And I suspected Miss Amy loved little Megan right back! FOR REAL.)
Like I said, Megan is gorgeous. And I was 100% certain she couldn't have been more than 11; barely starting puberty. There were a few fine, soft pubes beginning to show above her circumcised peepee that was no bigger that my little finger. It was as beautiful as pink sapphire.
(Later I would learn that, yep, Megan is only 11.)
Her chest was completely flat with pale-pink penny-sized aerola and tiny rock-hard nipples.
Because she was two young for hormones, there was no hip flair, but her little bootie cheeks were like two scoops of vanilla ice cream.
Amy stood Megan up, took off her white blouse and plaid skirt, and left her standing in just ruffled ankle socks and white Mary Jane's with three-inch heels.
The little sweetie moved back onto Amy's lap and laid her head on Amy's shoulder. Amy began to stroke Megan's little thingy with just her thumb and index finger. Soon Meagan was squirming on Amy's lap.
"Oh, Miss Amy, you always make me feel sooooo much better," Megan moaned. "But you know what? I'll bet I'll feel even better if you take your top off. You know how much I like your pretty boobies, Miss Amy. Please take it off! Please!"
So Megan and Amy stood, and Amy freed her set of plump 32Bs from her tight blouse. Pulling Megan back onto her lap again, Megan went at it. I could vividly hear Megan's wet sucking and Amy's contented sighs.
"And you know what else, Miss Amy?" Megan said, unlatching from a boob. "I'll bet I can make YOU feel as good as you make ME feel. Please take off your skirt! Please! Please, Miss Amy!"
Megan jumped off Amy's lap and unzipped Amy's skirt. It fell to her ankles and she stepped out of it. Her stiffy was on display, and there was a garterbelt holding up her stockings. Oh, my god! Did these two look so fucking beautiful!
Amy sat down again, and little Megan hooped back on her lap. Megan began to suck Amy's titties again. She moved from boobie to boobie, sucking one nipple while softly pinching the other. Amy resumed stroking Megan's peepee.
This went on for maybe five or ten minutes, then Megan said: "Ooooh, Miss Amy! I'm going to tingle! Please make me tingle, Miss Amy! Please! I feel so much better when I tingle. I want to tingle for you just like a good little girl."
And boy did Megan ever tingle! She seemed lost as she squeaked, squealed and shook as a series of dry orgasms washed over her.
Then without missing a beat, Megan fell to her knees and began sucking Amy's peeny. There was no doubt in my mind that this child was doing it right, and Amy began to buck and hump a little.
Megan stopped for a moment and said: "Are you about to squirt, Miss Amy? Are you? Will you squirt for me? You made me tingle, so will you squirt for me? Do you want to squirt in my mouth or on my little nipples? Anywhere you want, Miss Amy! I love you so much."
Megan was good. Really good. She knew exactly when Amy was about to cum. Megan opened her mouth as Amy squirted a few tiny ropes. (As you know, special girls on hormones don't produce a lot of love juice.) Some dribbled out of Megan's mouth, onto her chin, then down her flat chest.
If I thought Amy's pole dance was exciting, this was spectacular.
Again, there was very little response other than more polite clapping, but more envelopes were slipped onto the stage. Amy and Megan picked them up along with their clothes, did the best curtsies they could manage while holding all that, then stepped behind the curtain.
In about 10 minutes, both Amy and Megan returned to our table, naked except for their heels and Amy's stockings and garterbelt. Megan had swapped her Mary Jane's and ankle socks for pink four-inch pumps.
I couldn't help but ask, "Megan, how old are you, sweetie?"
"I'm 11, Miss Cindy. Miss Amy told me your name," the cute little puddin' said.
"Where do you live, honey?"
"I live with my aunt, but she doesn't like me. That's why I come here. People like me here."
"No, doll baby," Amy said. "They LOVE you here. And they'll love you here, too, Cindy."
What???!!!
Chapter 4
I was so shocked to hear that some of my fresh drink shot out of my nose! It wasn't as gross as it sounds, but I was THAT shocked.
"Seriously, Cindy," Amy said. "Why do you think I brought you here?"
I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever figure it out.
"You want to know where my designer garterbelt, silk stockings, alligator pumps and new car came from?" Amy asked. "You want to know how I paid my tuition? My apartment rent? It all came from these."
She slid the envelopes from the stage across the table to me. Damn, they were heavier than I thought they would be.
"Open some of them," Amy said.
I did and couldn't believe what I was seeing! Some envelopes contained Krugerrands; gold Double Eagles in others. Even perfectly cut diamonds. Everything in the envelopes was breathtaking.
"You've heard of hard currency? Pun intended," Amy laughed. "Well, this is our version of hard currency. Very valuable and untraceable.
"Here's the deal, Cindy: Do you understand how strikingly beautiful you are? Do you understand how perfect your naked body is? You love being naked, right? You love sucking and having your fuck hole stuffed, right? Why not get paid for it? If you go to work here with Megan and me, you will NEVER worry about paying for college ever again – or anything else, for that matter. You can pay your parents back and buy them a huge fucking house."
I was speechless for a moment. I gathered my thoughts and said, "Amy, I don't know if I can do what you just did. I've never done anything like that in front of a room full of men!"
"Okay, let's backtrack for a moment," Amy replied. "You're beautiful, you want to graduate from college; you want to pay your parents back. Have I left anything out?"
All I could say was: "I guess not."
"It's so easy, an 11-year-old girl can do it!" Amy said.
Megan giggled her cute little ass off at that.
"Give me a minute to let all of this sink in."
Remember the old black-and-white movies where a clock on the wall loudly ticked off the seconds? That's what it felt like. I composed myself and nervously tried to pull my dress over my hard peeny. Without success.
"Okay," I said. "But I have a question, and please, please don't take it the wrong way. You know I love you."
(Did I just say I loved Amy? Holy shit, I DID! And I DO!)
"Hang on just a second, Cindy," Amy said. "You're going to ask if I feel like a whore. Do you feel like a whore, Megan?"
Megan said: "What's a whore, Miss Amy?"
I swear I could eat that sweet child like banana pudding.
"You know what else, Cin? I love you, too."
My goodness, maybe this COULD work out. Everything.
"Tell you what, we have another set in about 30 minutes. Join me," said Amy. "If you don't like it, I'll never mention anything about this ever again. And I'll still be in love with you. We won't go on stage until I show you exactly what to do."
"Can I join in, Miss Amy?" cute Megan asked.
"Of course you can, darling!"
Shit and Shinola! I was the one who answered Megan's question.
Chapter 5
So here's how Amy and Megan set it up: I would walk on stage and sit on a couch next to a small side table. I would cross my legs, knowing that everyone – and I mean everyone – could see my peeny, my cocktail dress being so short and all. Needless to say, every inch of my naked bootie would be exposed, too.
Then it was showtime.
So I was sitting on the coach when Amy and Megan walked on stage wearing identical black silk French maid's uniforms with white lace trim, aprons and tiny hats. Layer upon layer of white ruffled petticoats. Both had on white pumps; Amy's were five-inch, and Megan's four-inch. Megan could handle heels that tall very well for an 11 year old.
They approached me and curtseyed in unison. Just as much in unison as Amy and I had clinked our beer bottles.
Then they flipped up their skirts and petticoats, bent at the waist, and showed everyone their naked hineys and pink puckers. Such sweet asses on such sweet girls. Then, again in unison, they asked "May we serve you, Mistress Cindy?"
I managed to get out, "Of course, young ladies." I tried to be enthusiastic – and I was – it's just that I was sooooo nervous.
"Would you like a drink, Mistress Cindy?" asked Megan.
"Why, yes I would. Thank you, darling." The "darling" was ad lib, but looking at Megan just made me say it without thinking. She WAS darling, after all.
Megan curtseyed and scampered off stage. Amy remained at attention until Megan returned. When she did, she held a silver tray in both hands, balancing a large – really large – filled-to-the brim martini glass. She handed me the glass and I took a sip. Shit it was strong, but I needed it!
"Does it suit your taste, Mistress Cindy?" Megan asked.
"It's perfect, my love. Just as you are!" This was again an ad lib on my part – I was supposed to just say: "It does".
A very surprised and sincerely blushing Megan said, "Excellent, Mistress Cindy!" She curtseyed and set the tray on the side table.
"How may we serve your needs further, Mistress Cindy?" It was Amy asking this time.
"Like you always do, my beautiful young ladies," I said. I thought I pulled that off rather well after a second and third sip (well, gulps) of the dry martini.
I stood, turned and Amy slowly unzipped my dress. As I stepped out of it, Megan picked it up, neatly folded it, and laid it on the arm of the couch. Amy turned, and I unzipped her maid's outfit, she stepped out of it and Megan picked it up, folded it, and set it beside my dress. Megan then turned and Amy helped her out of her maid's uniform. It too was folded and laid beside my dress.
So there we were – three beautiful special girls, completely naked except for our heels. Both maids turned, bent at the waist and spread their ass cheeks, again exposing their little fuck holes for me and everyone in the audience. Breathtaking! I knelt and moved back and fourth, kissing and teasing the tiny sphincters. They turned and I went to work on their peepees.
The rest took care of itself. Megan sucked me, and Amy fucked me in my love hole. Then I sucked Amy, and she fucked Megan. We switched and swapped, and fucked and sucked. Amy and I squrted our little loads in Megan's mouth, on her face and on her tiny boobies. Then Amy and I took turns on Megan's thingy until she shuddered in climax.
For the record, Megan was only the second special girl I'd ever penetrated or sucked. Or wanted to, for that natter.
Again, polite applause and more envelopes slid onto the stage.
This was the last act of the night, so Amy, Megan and I helped clean each other up, then put on the clothes we arrived in.
Megan slipped out the back door, and I just assumed that was so no one would see her, being underage and all, and her ride would be waiting.
Amy and I walked hand-in-hand to the front door. The handsome man who'd greeted us stepped up to me, bent slightly at the waist, took my hand and kissed it lightly.
"Excellent, Cindy, excellent," he said. "May I introduce myself? I'm Arnold. If there's any way I can assist you while you're here, just ask."
He slid a large handful of envelopes in my hand. "Will we be seeing you again, Cindy?"
I wanted to say, hell-fucking-yes! But I managed, "It will be my pleasure to return, Arnold."
Amy and I walked out, opened the car doors, slid in, buckled up, and closed the doors.
"So," said Amy, as she drove out of the parking lot. "What did you think?"
I blurted out, "When can we go back?"
"Why, any time we want, silly! Don't you recognize when you're a star!"
Chapter 6
Our visits to "The Hotel California," as we called it (the club actually has no name), became very frequent and we so enjoyed being with the wonderful little dream girl Megan. What a pro! She was really starting to grow into a beautiful young lady. I know "coltish legs" is an over-used cliché for a little girl's long legs, but hers are definitely coltish and beautiful.
Over the next few months, Amy and I realized what we had for each other was real, and we bought a home together. Just a small one-bedroom bungalow-style house in a quiet neighborhood. We have to fly under the radar with as much untaxed cash as we were socking away.
But as time went on, we noticed Megan was becoming withdrawn, sullen, even sad. We just chalked it up to her age. Life can be confusing for a preteen.
It didn't affect her performances at all – she was great – but Amy and I knew something was wrong.
One night, we approached Arnold the giant gentleman and asked him if he'd seen a change in Megan, too.
He had.
"Arnold, if you don't mind, Cindy and I would like to take Megan out for a bit," Amy said. "Maybe get her to tell us what's wrong and help talk her through whatever it is that's bothering her."
"Of course," said Arnold. "We can't have such a bright little star like Megan fall from the sky. But seriously, ladies, I don't think she gets enough to eat. I can see her ribs!
Wow! So could we, but just figured she was in a growth spurt.
"I've tried my best to give her food, but she won't take it," Arnold continued. "I'm holding her valuables for her, and I even offered to drive her to the store or a restaurant so she could pay for food herself. She refuses."
When Megan arrived at the back door for work that night, we noticed she was completely alone. Nobody. No ride. She slipped out of her street clothes and put on her schoolgirl's uniform.
"Megan, honey, how do you get here?" I asked.
"Walk," she said.
"How far do you have to walk?"
"Sorta' far."
"Do you walk here every night?" Amy asked.
"Yes," Megan said.
Well, this wasn't getting us anywhere, so we asked Megan to join us for dinner and she agreed; even smiled a little.
Of course, Amy and I were dressed in very short skirts, stiletto heels and pantyless, so we had to limit dinner to an In-N-Out Burger drive-through. If you don't know about In-N-Out Burger, put it on your bucket list.
As Megan slightly spread her legs in the back seat, I noticed she was wearing PANTIES. Unusual. Very unusual. Why the panties with us? Was she ashamed of something?
We drove to a well-lit park and found a table that was at least a little bit secluded. Amy and I could get out of the car without attracting attention.
We took our burgers, fries, and drinks over to the table and set them down. Amy and I took a seat, but when Megan tried to sit, she jumped back up like someone had stabbed that cute bootie.
"Megan, sweetie, is something wrong?" I asked.
"No, Miss Cindy," she said.
"Look baby, I think we know each other well enough now for you to call me Cindy,' and our wonderful friend is Amy.' Don't you think so, Megan?"
"I guess so," she said. "But I like Miss Cindy' and Miss Amy,' if it's okay."
Of course it would be okay. If it was within our power, neither Amy nor I would ever deny her anything.
She tried to sit again. When that beautiful hiney touched the seat, she grimaced.
"Megan, sweetheart, is something wrong?" Amy asked.
She shook her head no and tried again to sit. She couldn't.
I got up, held her in my arms for a minute, kissed her forehead and raised the hem of her skirt. She started to cry as I pulled down her panties. Someone had beat her with a belt! Her little ass was so swollen with bruises and red stripes.
Amy looked at her injuries and said: "Megan, tell me right now who did that to you! Do you see how tall Miss Cindy is, she'll beat the shit out of whoever did this to you. If she can't do it by herself, I'll help her. If both of us can't do it, we'll go get Arnold. Arnold has a fucking gun as big as he is and knows how to use it. Who did this to you?"
She wouldn't speak, but started to cry.
"Did your aunt do this to you?" demanded Amy.
She finally said: "Yes, but if she finds out I told anyone, she'll whip me again!"
Her sobs were so pitiful it broke my heart.
"Tell me why she beat you, honey. Miss Amy and I will fucking make sure she never touches you again. I swear, to god we will. Why did she do this?"
"Okay, if you promise not to tell her. I was trying to clean up the house – it's horrible! – and I broke a bottle. One of her bottles of whiskey. I wanted to pay for it, but Mr. Arnold is putting my money up for me and I didn't have any right then. Will you buy her some more whiskey so she won't whip me again? Please!"
Oh, how sad that sounded! Both Amy and I were SERIOUSLY pissed.
"Megan, darling, where do you live?" I asked.
She wouldn't say.
"This is never going to happen to you again, honey," said Amy. "But you have to tell us where you live, baby."
Finally she told us, and I said: "We're going by there, and you won't even have to get out of the car. Tell us what you need of your things, and we'll bring them out."
"But where will I stay?" Megan sobbed.
"With us!" we said. That "in unison" thing again, right?
The thought of holding that little muffin between Amy and me every night after we made love would be a dream come true. And I'll admit – I loved them BOTH so much.
Chapter 7
When we got back in the car to go kick Megan's aunt's ass and get some of her stuff, Megan started giggling, then laughing out loud. In just a few seconds, I swear Megan was laughing so hard, tears we're rolling down her pretty face again.
"You know what I just realized?" Megan said. "Since I'm going to live with you, I don't have to go get any of my stuff. My aunt doesn't know about Megan!' She thinks I'm a little boy named Fred.' I'm really her nephew! My mom and dad disappeared and she took me in for the state support money she gets.
"I can pass her on the street as Megan,' and she won't have any idea I'm really little Freddie'! The checks she gets every month are for `Fred's' support! She doesn't know where I go at night, and doesn't care!"
Then Amy and I started laughing.
"Guess what else, sweet Megan?" I said. "She'll have to produce Fred' at some point to keep the checks coming, and she won't be able to. The money she receives will be taken away from her very soon! No Fred'; no money."
"You know what would be fun, Cin?" Amy giggled. "We could call the cops and say we're her aunt's neighbors, and we think she might have hurt `Fred.' Maybe even killed him.
"The neighbor's have to know Fred' is being abused. We could say we saw her aunt carrying out a big garbage bag late one night, and we think Fred' might have been in it. We ask them to go check on Fred.' But, ooops! Fred's' not there! Where can `Fred' be?
"Nobody knows about `Megan' but us, and Arnold," Amy continued.
Now it was my turn to speak: "Meg, how did you wind up at The Hotel California?"
After I heard her story, the three of us girls would be "obliged," if you will, to give Arnold the giant gentleman the best suck and fuck session of his life! As many of them as he wants ...
Megan's story: When she was nine, she was walking down the street in her dangerous slum of a neighborhood, wearing only a pair of thin shorts – the only pair she had.
(She had outgrown them, and I can just see that beautiful partially exposed hinnie and long legs in my mind's eye.)
She was also wearing a small t-shirt that didn't quite cover her flat tummy and inny bellybutton. Megan hadn't had a haircut in awhile, and her bright blond hair was shoulder length.
As luck would have it, Arnold of all people, was driving down Megan's street and noticed her from behind. Of course he thought he was seeing a little girl! What about Megan would ever make you believe she's a boy? Especially from behind with those legs, ass and hair?
Arnold, being the gentleman he is, stopped and motioned for Megan to come over to his car. He asked why a pretty little girl like her was alone on such a dangerous street.
"He looked like a nice man. He was so big and handsome," said Megan. "I don't know why, but I trusted him right away. I told him thanks,' but I'm a little boy. Mr. Arnold said no way! Someone as beautiful as you can't be a boy!'
"And you know what? I'd always wanted to be a girl, and I knew from looking in the mirror that I had a girly face. My legs and bootie don't look anything like the boys' I went to school with.
"Mr. Arnold asked me where I lived," Megan continued, "and I pointed to my dump of a house. Then Mr. Arnold asked when I'd eaten last. I thought it was maybe two or three days ago, so I told him that."
Now in Arnold's words: "Honey, get in. I'm taking to you to eat at a McDonald's. That made HER very happy, which made ME very happy. I started to question Megan as we ate, and she began to open up a little. She told me her aunt was mean and nasty – a drunk; a dope head – and wouldn't even drive her to school. Megan said her aunt spent all their money getting drunk or high."
Back to Megan: "I like school a lot and made really good grades! I was in the 5th grade when I had to stop going. Someone stole my bike and it was too far to walk. But I've only missed a couple of months, and I know I could catch up in no time! Or maybe start 5th grade over. I don't know. I just want to go back to school!
"Mr. Arnold offered to buy me a new bike, but I wouldn't let him. Then he said he might know a way for me to make enough to buy one with my own money. He took me to The Hotel California, but he doesn't know we call it that," she giggled. "He asked if I'd like to sweep up and do odd jobs everyday to make money."
Arnold: "She's such a hotty, but I didn't want her on stage until she was ready. Within a year, it seemed like she'd grown a foot, and was so beautiful. I taught her to wait tables, and her popularity took off, as you very well know."
Megan: "I was wearing the schoolgirl uniform pretty soon. But with panties. I was only 10 then. Then Miss Amy started working at The Hotel California when I was 11, and she liked me. I told Mr. Arnold that I really liked Miss Amy, too, and wanted to do sex things onstage with her.
"Mr. Arnold said think really hard about it, and if I still wanted to do it, and if it was okay with Miss Amy, I could start doing things with her. I really like doing sex stuff with Miss Amy, and especially now that you're here Miss Cindy. You and Miss Amy are the only people I've done sex things with."
We rode in silence for awhile, then Megan reached around my head and gently pressed something to my nose. Her panties.
"What's this smell like?" Megan asked.
I said: "It smells like sweet Megan."
"Not a `Fred?'"
"No, baby, nothing like a `Fred'."
"Want to go back to The Hotel California and do the nasty with `Megan?'" she giggled.
"Oh, yeah," we said. In unison, of course.
A Short Final Chapter
The three of us continued to work at The Hotel California for two more years, but I guess you'd say we're in semi-retirement now.
We started our little Megan on hormones when she turned 12 and her AAA-cup boobies and hip flare are more than pleasantly noticeable.
We're so awash in cash that we've bought a very secluded lake house, where the three of us – shall we say – entertain clients on weekends, sent to us by Arnold. "Pimp" is such a dirty word, and Arnold is far above that. Our clients are well vetted by him.
I should point out that even though the men do pay us, they're much more than johns – we very much enjoy their company. The class and kindness with which we treat each other is way more than a two-way street.
But if you're wondering if I feel like a whore, the answer is a resounding YES! I do love it so! Being a fuck toy for so many rich, handsome men is a real rush. I think I speak for Amy and Megan as well.
And I was not only able to pay my parents back for my college education, but I have enough money to have allowed both of them to take early retirement. They saw Cindy in me, and they more than deserve it.
During the week, we return to our bungalow in the city where Amy and I are working toward our Masters degrees, and Megan attends an exclusive private girls school.
We don't know if anyone ever came looking for "Fred" and we don't care. "Fred" may as well be dead. The three of us took very good care of a battery of lawyers and there is no longer a trace of "Fred"; only our blossoming Megan.
Megan even has a medical and dental history, school records, and a new birth certificate. If someone ever looked, all they would find in her past is a beautiful little girl.
From time to time, we perform at The Hotel California and we still love it.
We also love Arnold ... if you catch my drift.